Everyone Has A Name
by Dannie Jo
Summary: As a child he had no name, only Monster. When he grew up, he recieved one. But only after living 800 years did he realize what that name really meant and how lovely a certain Shadowhunter made his name sound. Skips time from childhood-Malec's relationship


_Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments and I am not Cassandra Clare. _

* * *

-Everyone Has A Name-

-A One Shot-

* * *

The little boy was only seven when he first ran away. It was not that far, where he ran, but it was far enough where he could finally feel free of his father's hand and his mother's guilt stricken gaze, just for a little while.

He ran to the creek located not far from the barn he stayed in, in fact he could still see the barn from where he stood. It was the first time he ever saw how big his family's house was, the first time he ever saw the village, and the very first time he felt grass on his feet. His father only let him out of the barn to feed the chickens in the sandy chicken coop behind the house, away from other people's wandering eyes. He hated chickens and their stupid coops.

He liked it outside though. He did not understand why his father made him stay in the small, smelly barn where the cows were. He hated cows, yet they and the chickens were his only friends. He guessed that the chickens and cows weren't so bad, but he still did not like them.

When he finally reached the bank of the creek, he rolled up his already short pant legs, the only pair he had, and ran into the water.

"Woho," he gasped in a raspy voice. He didn't know water was so cold! The water he knew was never cold, and it was never so clear. The little boy stood on a rock just above the frigid flow, staring all around at how wonderful the outside was.

He liked the outside. Maybe he could ask his father if he could sleep outside from that point on; it was better than the smelly barn. He hated that smelly barn.

All of a sudden, he heard something strange. Something he never heard before. He turned around, and with a balance he never really had, slipped, falling into the freezing water. He hit his head on the other rocks, and it hurt. But hurting was normal, wasn't it?

He heard the strange sound again, and then saw someone he never saw before. It was a girl, he thought, though he never saw one so small before. He only saw his mother, and his mother was the only girl he knew. This girl looked nothing like his mother. She had yellow hair, eyes the same color as the sky, and her skin was not the same color as his, but the same skin tone as his father's.

He looked up at her as if she were an alien. She looked down at him as if she just finished raking out the chicken coop, happy and delighted that she finally got the job done. Well, no, the boy corrected himself, she looked a lot more delighted than he ever been, and he was always happy to get done with his morning chores.

In his native tongue, she asked him if he hurt himself.

Well, that was a strange question, the boy figured. No one ever asked him that before. Being hurt was normal, was it not?

In a very raspy voice, he responded that he was fine.

The girl did not look like she believed him, but she did not question him. She moved to sit on the grassy bank and patted gently on the grass besides her. Was that supposed to mean that he was supposed to sit there? Was she going to drag him there like his father normally did? The boy did not wait to find out. He did not like it when his father did that to him.

He moved out of the cold water and sat on the warm grass with a sigh of relief. He never thought he felt so warm in his life.

The girl asked him his name.

The little boy frowned.

She asked him again.

He shrugged her shoulders and responded that he did not think he had one.

Well what do they call you, she had asked him.

Boy, he said, monster, pest, spawn.

The girl cried, just has he did at night when he curled up with the cows for body heat. Those stupid cows.

He asked her what was wrong, and she replied that everyone had a name, and none of those that he was called was suitable for a child.

From that point on, he made it his mission to find out his name, his true name.

That night, when his father beat him for leaving the barn, he managed to find the air to ask his father what his name was.

His father just kicked him harder, so hard that he knocked into the waste bucket, filled with stuff that should never touch skin. It stunk and looked gross. It felt gross as it dripped down his body. His father just laughed at him and scowled that he had no name.

The little boy guessed that not everyone had a name after all. But a name seemed like a nice thing to have, and he figured that just once he would have liked to have one nice thing in his life.

* * *

When he was ten, he figured out that he was not normal.

Hurting was not normal, his blond friend told him (Madeline, she had a name).

So when he saw his mother swinging in the barn, feet not touching the hay below, he figured that he was the farthest thing from normal he can get. Madeline told him that all mothers loved their children, yet his mother left him.

When his father dragged him towards the water he found his sanctuary, the same creek he met Madeline, he knew that he would end up like his mother. Because he knew he was not normal. He slept in a barn with stupid cows, he didn't have a name, and his mother did not love him back. He was going to die because he was not normal.

He was a monster, just like his father called him. Maybe that was his name after all.

He saw that some of the townspeople, people he only saw from afar, had started to follow them, starting to chant things like 'kill the spawn' and 'drown the devil, finally, drown him; drown him!'

And that was what his father did.

The water was just as cold as when he first felt it years back, but he didn't feel it. He didn't want to feel it. His lungs burned, why were his lungs burning if the water was cold? It didn't make sense to him. He didn't like it. He hated it. He hated it more than those stupid cows, those stupid chickens!

He tried to pull up from the water, wanting just one breath of air to take away the pain in his lungs. He looked over and saw Madeline. She was crying again.

He was pushed back under the water again. Maybe the water was not so great after all. He fought back, fought back with all of his might. He felt something burning inside of him, but it didn't hurt, not like his lungs hurt.

It felt good.

Yes, it felt very good.

He liked it.

He liked it more than he like the grass, more than he like Madeline. No, he liked her a lot, but the burning sensation inside of him came in close second.

He tried to let it flow through him, hoping that he could feel something nice before he died. He knew he would die, just like his mother did, and just like the baby cows three days previous. Poor thing was attacked by a wolf, and his father slapped him while saying that he needed to protect the cows! He said that it should have been him that was attacked by the wolf, not the baby cow. Oh, how the boy hated his father. He hated him more than those cows, more than those stupid chickens, more than that stupid barn! More than that stupid wolf!

And at that, he was able to fling his father off of him with strength he did not even knew he possessed.

He crawled out of the water, gasping for air, and looked towards Madeline. She was smiling, and making that weird sound again. He looked back at his father.

His father was running back towards him, loathing lingering in those eyes that looked absolutely nothing like his. If he had eyes like his father's, he wouldn't be in this problem, he knew that. But he wasn't unnatural, was he?

The burning sensation was making its ways towards his fingertips and the boy could not wait for what was about to happen. It was going to be something none of the villagers had ever seen before. Something that would show everyone that he was normal.

Much to his dismay, that amazing event did not happen before his father grabbed onto his neck again and slammed him back into the water.

No.

The little boy refused to die like that.

He grabbed his father's wrist, hoping just to be able to fling him off again. But when his tiny hand touched his father's sweaty skin, he felt all the strength drain out of him.

He thought he was surely going to die, but his father pull away from him quickly, leaving him to gasp for the air lost.

As he just sat there, feeling the wonderful sensation of that strength and air refill him, he heard screaming.

Everyone was screaming, running away from him… What did he do?

Why was his father on fire?

One man with a pitchfork came charging at him, screaming that he was going to kill the monster once and for all.

Not sure what to do, the boy swung out his arm, ready to block his face from the attack, but something happened he did not expect. When his hand swung around, a bright blue flame lashed out and struck the man, sending him into a screaming inferno much like his father. He caused that? He looked down at his hands. He did not know how he did it, but he did. He set his father and the man on fire.

He was scared.

Scared of the villagers.

Scared of dying.

Scared of himself.

He looked towards Madeline, ready to tell her that she better run to, just like everyone else. He didn't want to hurt her, but she was staring at him with cold, fearful blue eyes.

He took a step closer to her, ready to comfort the only real friend he ever had, but she screamed for him to get away from her, and she called him a monster. He was nothing but a monster.

And he watched as the only friend he ever had ran away from the monster.

Monster, maybe that was what he was after all. Maybe that truly was his name.

* * *

He was confused.

He was cold and confused.

But mainly he was lost.

Two men were pushing him forward, making him walk up a fancy looking aisle. They were in a church, he gathered from looking at all of the religious artifacts, candles, and robed people. His parents, when they were alive, were religious people so he recognized most of what he was seeing. But he did not understand. God wasn't supposed to frighten you, yet he was quite scared.

But then he was more than just scared when the man standing at the altar pulled back his hood. He had no face, as though the man took a blade to the face and the wounds healed without providing space for his lips, or eyes.

The boy tried to run away, but the two men behind him grabbed his arms, making sure he went nowhere.

Was this how he was going to die? In a House of the Lord his father worshipped so greatly?

Was this mutilated being going to kill him for being a monster?

Standing before him in the light of a million candles, the robed figure spoke in the boy's native tongue.

_Very rare is it for a warlock to stand in the presence of us. _

Warlock?

Wait, the boy thought, the man didn't speak. Was he going crazy? He was hearing voices now…

_You are not crazy, child, just mystified at the knowledge you do not yet have. But you will learn it soon. Do not be afraid, you are safe now. Now, tell me, what I can call you, for you do not have a name._

The boy looked at him with wide eyes, his strange cat eyes growing even more noticeable with the motion. The voice which he associated with the man knew so much about him and he did not even speak a word yet.

_Well, what do you wish to be called?_

The boy dropped his head and spoke solemnly that the only names he had ever been called had only brought him sorrow and more pain in his life and to those around him. In his mind, he saw his mother hanging in the barn, and Madeline as she looked at him as though he was the devil himself.

_You have overcome great pain, disappointment, and annoyance in your life, young warlock. Ah yes, great disappointment in deed. Magnus Bane. You'll shall answer to that for now. _

Magnus Bane.

Magnus looked up at the man and looked him square in his mutilated face.

_Now go on, young Bane, for you have a lot to learn. _

The man turned away from Magnus before he could even register what the man was saying and pulled up his hood, slowly as though what he just did was nothing. But it was everything to Magnus. Magnus, he had a name, the boy thought. He had a name, and everyone had a name.

For once in his life, as he was being dragged away by the two men into a place he had no idea where he was, he felt like he truly belonged somewhere.

* * *

"As for you," he said, addressing that simply adorable blue eyed Shadowhunter. "Call me."

Magnus didn't really expect the Nephilim boy to call him. He was a bumbling, shy mess. A very closeted and very attractive bumbling, shy mess. Hell, he thought the poor kid was going to explode from having so much blood rushing to his head, he blushing so much when he made a move on him in front of his little Shadowhunter friends.

Magnus thought that he could get used to that blush, but of course the shy ones have to be the cutest. Just luck, but there would be others. There was always another. Magnus sighed, thinking about the last real relationship he had. Hell, could he consider that little sex fest that maybe could have been more with Camille a relationship? If he could consider Camille an actually partner, well than his last real relationship was back before the turn of the twentieth century.

Damn, Magnus thought, one hundred years of simply fucking people for the sheer pleasure of it. He was definitely over due for some spoiling and long nights cuddling on the couch while watching black and white movies while sipping on very expensive Italian wines.

As he turned off his bedroom lights off for the night, snuggling against his canary comforter and tiny cat, he dreamed of those Italian wines and long nights, but he also dreamed of something else. Something that confused him, and made him question just how long overdue he was for an actual relationship. That night, he dreamed of blue eyes, eyes that he barely knew, yet could see in almost perfect detail as though he stared at them for his entire life time.

* * *

There it was again, someone ringing the buzzer late at night as though Magnus didn't have a life outside of being a High Warlock. He might not have had a life beyond doing stupid favors for mentally incompetent Downworlders, and lately Shadowhunters, but he liked to pretend he did!

Magnus sighed and rolled off of the couch, muttering about Downworlders and their perfect timings. Just as the buzzer rang, he was just getting to his favorite part of _Casablanca_, and naturally- because of the life he obviously didn't have, he couldn't watch it. No perfect night of sheer relaxation for him, how dare he even think that it was possible!

In an outfit far from suitable for business affairs (neon blue and black plaid pajama pants, a plain black tank top, no make-up, and hair falling in his face), he slung his way over to the call box and pressed the button. "Someone better have a good reason for this!" He screamed half-heartedly into the box. Sad, he didn't have the energy to even scare off the stupid disturber in hopes that he could return back to the movie quicker.

But maybe he had, for the person on the other line hesitated and did not immediately scream at him to make him a potion to turn the lunatic old lady down the street from them into a cursed, blood sucking, zombified chicken. God, didn't those Downworlders know that he hated chickens?

"Uh….I d-don't actually know why I'm here…actually. Uh-sorry."

Wait a second, Magnus perked up, he recognized that voice. "Nephilim."

"Uh-uh, yeah. Lightwood…Alec Lightwood. Y-you healed me two days back?"

The boy sounded like he wasn't even sure. Magnus gave a small tist tist as he pushed the button to unlock the door. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad night after all, but he did wish he didn't look like a living hell.

He squared his shoulders back, gave himself that little pep talk you give himself before meeting the person that you only talked to in your dreams, and walked over to open the door, ready to greet his blue eye visitor. When the door did open, he was shocked to see that Mr. Blue Eyes, still maneuvering on crutches from that nasty fight with Abaddon, was already at the top of his stairs, expertly climbing them even with the extra burden.

Those eyes looked just more than a little nervous as they refused to rise any higher than Magnus' collar bone, and his teeth sunk down into his bottom lip with abuse.

Magnus stepped aside, allowing the boy to maneuver inside, but the boy just stayed there, looking as though he either needed direct permission to enter or he just needed to convince himself that he really was about to do it, enter a warlock's home injured and without weapons. Well, any visible weapons, Magnus mused.

"What a delightful surprise. Did you hobble all the way up from Manhattan just to see poor, little me? I'm honored."

Alec blushed deeply, ducking his head down in hopes to conceal it, and slowly began to enter the apartment. Only after he was fully inside, and a good distance away from Magnus, did Alec turn around and begin to speak, eyes glued to the cement floor. Magnus guessed that what he wanted to say must have been burned into his flooring, poor child.

"I…I came to thank you. For saving my life…Izzy told me what you did for us, and how you declined payment. I brought some money with me…it isn't much, only one-hundred dollars, but it was all I saved up from my childhood -"

Alec stopped as he heard the warlock chuckle, snapping his head up and looking dead at Magnus. Magnus could see the color drain from the boy's already pale face and the blood start to fill his cheeks quickly after. Boy, he did he blush a lot. Alec looked like he wanted to look away, break the gaze that he was holding with the alluring green cat eyes set in a sleepy curve, but couldn't.

Magnus flashed the boy a blindingly white smile and took a step forward, one step seemingly closed the distance between them. It had to be those long legs of his. Magnus heard the boy's breath hitch as he looked up at his strange eyes, the boy only an inch or two shorter than him, which was actually quite nice considering all the times he grew tired of craning down to get even a short little kiss.

Magnus reached out his hand and gently, like a ghost's touch, brushed the black locks from out of the boy's piercing eyes, and he could have sworn that Alec's eyelids fluttered, but that might have been his imagination.

"Sweetheart, I didn't take the money for a reason, but if you really want to pay me back, there are plenty other ways that you can. Looking into these eyes again is enough for now, but if you don't feel like that is adequate, there are a few other ways..."

More than a few, but even with the understatement- the boy turned even redder. It fascinated the warlock. Those long, caramel colored fingers began to slide from the boy's temple down to his neck where he felt the Shadowhunter's erratic pulse and how he gulped at the foreign touch.

"Magnus," the boy choked out and the warlock's actions stopped. Everything just stopped. Alec noticed this pregnant pause in time and went back to abusing that poor bottom lip, looking down at the floor, and thinking that he must have done something terribly wrong. But what he didn't know was that it was the first time that the boy had truly said his name, and Magnus never thought that he heard anyone say it any lovelier in his life. His whole eight-hundred years, and that was a lot of people.

Struck by how in awe in made him feel, the slightly taller man leaned down and quickly kissed Alec's cheek. It surprised the boy who gasped, but seemed to lean into the sensation- though Magnus already pulled away.

Their eyes met again and Magnus' twinkled with something that made Alec shiver.

"Tell me, little Nephilim-"

"I do have a name you know," the boy corrected, obviously against having being called anything else. Or maybe it was being called little.

Magnus smirked again and tapped the very tip of his porcelain nose before gesturing back to the sitting area area of his loft. On the table were two wine glass, fancy with large steams, and Magnus' movie, pure in its original black and white, still played on the television. "Everyone has a name, Alec. Now, do you perhaps like Italian wine? What about black and white movies?

* * *

_thank you for reading, please review!_

_Happy writing, _

_Dani :)_


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